Lady Liberty
by Lavinia Swire
Summary: 'The rain blurs the shoreline and distorts the surface of the sea. The horizon is no more than a dark smudge. Even Lady Liberty's dress and skin are glassy and dull from the rain.' – On 18th April 1912, the Carpathia docks in New York.


**This is my first Titanic fic, so I really hope you all like it! Massive thanks to Bardess of Avon for helping me out and being a lovely beta reader.**

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><p>When a ship docks in the New York harbour, there is really only one possible place for the passengers' gazes to fall. The Statue of Liberty towers over the harbour, visible from way out to sea. It can't help but draw the eye.<p>

Lady Liberty doesn't shrink away from the gazes fixed on her, faces filled with desperation or excitement or hope. She's not self-conscious. She stands steadily as ships come and go, people arrive and depart.

o o o o o

Today it's raining; a dull evening when the clouds sit heavily on the rim of the dark sea.

The people waiting in the harbour lean together, bent below shared umbrellas and huddling under coats and shawls – anything to keep them a little dry while they wait for the next ship.

Despite the eagerness with which they stare out to sea, their eyes fixed on some distant point on the horizon, the ship is easy to miss when it finally does start to come into view. A dull grey smudge against an even greyer sky.

There are a few people on the deck of the approaching ship, wrapped in shawls and blankets and squinting against the rain, determined to be the first to catch a glimpse of the shore. But most are huddled inside, too tired to care.

The stewards are busier than normal, rushing about on deck with clipboards, chucking small children under the chin as their mothers wearily rattle off lists of names.

A solemn young woman is one of those waiting at the stern of the ship. Blank-faced, she stares at the statue and the city beyond. Her hair is soaked and plastered to her head, but she never once takes her eyes from Lady Liberty.

"Can I take your name, please, love?" A steward pauses by her for a moment, hurried but not unkind.

"Dawson. Rose Dawson."

She doesn't meet the steward's eyes as she speaks, keeping her gaze fixed on the statue.

Steam pours from the ship's funnel, spilling out and over the sea. The grey mixes with the sea and the sky, spreading, blurring.

There are more women than usual today, grand ladies in fur coats and mothers with children clutching at their skirts. Some have expressions of relief, clinging to the arm of a child or a friend and gazing up as though it's Paradise that stretches before them, not the grimy New York harbour. Some look glazed, as though they barely see the statue, the new land ahead. A few are crying. They are politely left to their grief by those surrounding them.

o o o o o

For those who are on deck, the arrival is rather anticlimactic. The rain blurs the shoreline and distorts the surface of the sea. The horizon is no more than a dark smudge. Even Lady Liberty's dress and skin are glassy and dull from the rain. Anyone leaning over the rail wouldn't see a reflection in the ocean.

It takes an age for the ship to dock, and passengers wait by the gates and the rail, some barely able to conceal their impatience.

Then, at last, the gangplank is fixed in place, the gates unlocked.

Finally, finally, the first few people tentatively walk down the gangplank and step onto dry land. Watchers mill around the harbour and on the pier, mingling with the passengers.

o o o o o

A pregnant woman in a fur coat, barely more than a girl, is ushered along by a maid. Bewildered and tired, she wraps her arms more tightly around herself. A car is waiting for her, along with a chauffeur carrying a large umbrella. She steps carefully inside, her tiny figure swallowed up by the darkness in the car. There's plenty of room for luggage on the roof, but she has no bags with her.

o o o o o

Some of the people departing are slightly separate from the others. They have numerous cases of luggage with them; they are suitably dressed. There are men in this group, husbands and brothers and fathers. These passengers greet their families lightly – 'Oh, you know, of course we had to turn back, we couldn't have carried on to Europe with all those poor souls on board.' And an appropriate length of silence ensues for the 'poor souls' before conversation can resume.

o o o o o

Lady Liberty stands tall and upright in the drizzle. The rain looks disconcertingly like tears on the statue's face.

Onshore, some of those who had been waiting for the ship to dock are clinging to passengers, crying or laughing or simply holding onto one another as tightly as they can. Others are still waiting, staring hopefully at the ship sitting squatly in the harbour as the deck empties. One or two slip quietly away out of the crowd, still alone.

o o o o o

Occasionally there is a cry of recognition that tails off, an eager clutch of a hand on an arm that is swiftly removed. It's all too easy to mistake a stranger for a friend or relation in a crowd when you're concentrating on praying. _Please God, please God, let them be here, let them be standing just behind that woman, oh, thank you, Lord, I can see his head, I'm sure it's him, it must be –_

And then the man's face is wrong, or a child runs back towards the wrong mother. It's they who are wrong, not you, because you know yours must be here. You just haven't found them quite yet. _Please God, please – _

o o o o o

A woman is looking about her as she walks briskly down the gangplank and through the crowds onshore, trying to peer over and around the people surrounding her whilst at the same time keeping her back straight and her expression rigid. Her red hair is fixed rather messily on top of her head, as though she has had to manage without a maid. She would have a maid, of course; she is the very picture of a lady. The dark-haired man next to her stares straight ahead. He holds an umbrella over the woman courteously, but other than that she may as well not be there at all.

The woman says something to him, her eyes wide and pleading, and he snaps back an impatient reply. Her fingers, in their stained gloves, lock and unlock, her hands twining. Then they are gone into the swell of the crowd.

On the other side of the pier, the red-haired young woman with solemn eyes never sees them leave.

o o o o o

The last of the passengers filter off the boat, out of the harbour and into the streets, off to who knows where.

The rain falls more heavily. Lady Liberty cries.

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><p><strong>Please review - I would absolutely love to know what you think!<strong>


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